


(Let Us Wander) Let Us Hold Each Other

by doctorbuffypotterlock79



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race (US) RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian AU, Mentioned dissociation/depersonalization, but it's NOT the time traveler's wife, it sounds like the time traveler's wife, please suspend your disbelief in regards to my time travel logic, time travel (kinda) au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27494557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorbuffypotterlock79/pseuds/doctorbuffypotterlock79
Summary: Vanessa drifts.She doesn’t know where she is, or when it will be over, or when she’ll end up when she gets back.She only hopes that Brooke is still waiting for her.(An au where Vanessa drifts through time without her control, and loves Brooke in spite of the whole universe)
Relationships: Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo
Comments: 20
Kudos: 24





	(Let Us Wander) Let Us Hold Each Other

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This fic is a bit strange at times, but I really hope you enjoy! I'm actually really, really proud of this one. It took a lot of time and effort to write and I'm so happy with how it turned out. That said, thank you times 10 thousand to Writ, for brainstorming this with me and then betaing too. I couldn't have done it without you <3 <3.
> 
> Please leave some feedback if you'd like, I really appreciate all your comments!
> 
> *please note there are mentions of dissociation and depersonalization. It’s nothing too graphic, but be cautious*
> 
> Title from Hold Back the River by James Bay.

Vanessa drifts. 

She never knows where she is when she drifts. She just floats through the world, through time, watching it through a hazy cloud. She catches glimpses sometimes, hints of life beneath the haze. Two heads bent over dim candlelight. Tiny hands playing with dolls. Arms wrapping around someone. The little things that make up life. 

Everything is focused and blurry, near and far, fast and slow, somehow at the same time. 

Sometimes she hears voices. Rough ones and buttery ones, high-pitched screeches and low rumbles, just a buzz in her ears. Sometimes she glimpses people, faces blurring into one another like a photoburst. She sees fair skin and dark skin. Skin dotted with freckles, with beauty marks. Shiny bald heads and messy curls and pin-straight locks. Crinkly-eyed smiles and tear-filled frowns. All the world for her to see.

To see, but not to live. 

Sometimes she sees a face stolen from her dreams, from her memories. Green eyes and blonde hair and a wide smile. She tries so hard to grab onto that person, to go home to them. 

But she can’t. 

It happens everytime. She tries to look closer at something, but it disappears. Tries to reach something, but meets empty space. Tries to catch up to something, but never makes it. 

She doesn’t know where she is, or when it will be over, or when she’ll end up when she gets back. 

She only hopes that Brooke is still waiting for her.

\---

_The campus coffee shop is always packed with teachers and students in search of something sweet. Heated milk hisses through coffee-scented air, a wake-up call better than Vanessa’s blaring phone alarm. Vanessa stares into the case of goodies from the college culinary department, trying to decide if pound cake or a cinnamon muffin will give her more energy to pep up her History 101 class, full of sleepy students regretting being awake at eight. A fly buzzes near her ear and she swats it away, only to hit something much bigger._

_There’s a groan, a splat, and Vanessa gasps at the iced coffee gushing over the black-and-white tiled floors and the pretty blonde rubbing the arm Vanessa just whacked. Not just any pretty blonde—it’s Brooke Lynn Hytes from the English department, quiet in meetings yet energetically lecturing about Woolf and Austen and Baldwin to the delight of the English majors who line up outside her office like they’re waiting for Rihanna after a show. Vanessa’s had the office across from hers since she started teaching here, but they’ve never exchanged much beyond_ good morning, _no matter how much Vanessa has wanted to._

_“Shit, I’m sorry,” Vanessa says, realizing that she needs to help rather than stare at Brooke._

_“It’s fine.” Brooke’s already wiping the mess, and Vanessa crouches down to help._

_“Let me buy you another one,” Vanessa offers, tossing the soggy napkins in the trash._

_Brooke’s lips turn into a flirty smile.“Will you sit with me while I drink it?”_

_Five minutes later they’re tucked into a corner table. Brooke’s delicate grace shines even as she sips coffee, and it has Vanessa mesmerized, at a loss for words. She’s never actually talked to Brooke one-on-one like this. She’s admired her from afar, sure, and when_ Hytes _leaves the mouth of one of her students she stops in her tracks to listen. But this, though the stuff of daydreams, is_ real, _and she can’t blow it._

_“I, uh, I’ve actually wanted to do this for a while,” Brooke says, saving her from the silence._

_“What? Get your coffee knocked out of your hand?”_

_Brooke laughs, and Vanessa swears she’s heard that laugh before, lost in time somewhere. “Talk to you.”_

_Vanessa almost spits out her drink, but spitting coffee on Brooke definitely won’t help in the crush department. “I have too,” she says. Since the day she saw Brooke in her office beside a mound of books, but Vanessa leaves that out. She knows she’s been wasting time--time she won’t always have--not talking to Brooke sooner. But she is now, and she has to while she can._

_Vanessa gets her rhythm back, and soon she and Brooke are talking about nothing and everything, about classes and students and whether cinnamon muffins are better than chocolate chip._

_And then, because time is never on her side, her phone buzzes. Her ten-minutes-to-class alarm._

_Vanessa sighs. “I better get going. They’re probably all sittin’ there talking about leaving if I don’t show up in 15 minutes.”_

_Brooke grins. “I should get going myself.”_

_“We got escape plans to bust, huh?”_

_“Yeah.” A hint of hope creeps into Brooke’s smile. “Do you think we can do this again? Maybe dinner this Saturday?”_

_Vanessa resists the urge to fist-pump the air. No more coffee incidents today. “I’d love that.” She scribbles her number on a napkin and hands it to Brooke, heading to class with a spring in her step._

_Dinner this Saturday. She’ll be there._

_She’s sick of being time’s prisoner._

_\---_

_Vanessa’s almost late for her first date with Brooke. It’s probably because she doesn’t have any clocks in her apartment, no way of marking time besides her phone. She even covers the time display on her stove, because she doesn’t need bright green numbers judging her while she boils spaghetti._

_She never cared about time before. When she was a kid, she played outside for hours that passed like minutes, and only experienced the joy of homemade tortillas when her parents called her in for dinner, not the crushing sense of doom that she had wasted hours she couldn’t get back._

_It wasn’t until she got older that time became something she was acutely aware of, each tick of the clock mocking her, making her wonder how many ticks would pass before she drifted again. Wondering if she got the most out of each tick, or if she wasted them. After countless nights lying awake, cowering under her alarm clock’s glare, every heartbeat just a clock’s tick, she hauled them all to the curb._

_So there aren’t any clocks in her apartment._

_Sometimes it’s better not to know._

_\---_

_“What’s your favorite book?” Vanessa asks. Their food has arrived, and she’s already heard that Brooke’s an only child, that she grew up in Canada, that she’s been teaching five years, and Brooke’s heard the same from her. She wants more, wants as much of Brooke as she can get, because there likely won’t be a second date._

_“You can’t just ask my favorite book,” Brooke says, her face flustered._

_Vanessa raises an eyebrow. “Why not?”_

_“Well--how could I pick one?” Brooke stammers. “That would be like asking you your favorite time period. There’re so many genres, and eras, and--”_

_“All right, Miss Indecisive.” Vanessa laughs. “What was your favorite when you were a kid?” Vanessa isn’t a history professor for nothing. She likes exploring the threads of the past, finding how they weave into what’s in front of her, avoiding the uncertain future looming ahead._

“Chicken Soup With Rice,” _Brooke says._

 _Vanessa nods. She figured Brooke to be one for the classics. “Mine was_ Goodnight Moon. _My mom always read it to me. I’d be out like a light before she even finished.” She leaves out that her mom wasn’t there to read it every night, or how it just wasn’t the same when her dad read it._

_“And the Renaissance is my favorite time period,” Vanessa adds. “Well, one of them, anyway.”_

_“See! You can’t pick either!” Brooke laughs, and Vanessa is so lost in the sound, in how it lightens her heart, that she almost misses Brooke stealing a shrimp from her plate._

_Almost._

_“Gimme a fry, you thief,” Vanessa says, and Brooke does._

_One date becomes two, two become three, and soon she’s been with Brooke for four months, and she forgets that she doesn’t do this._

_She doesn’t do relationships, never lets anything go far. She’s wanted to, sure, wanted to turn those nights with Shea, with Monique, with Kameron, into something more, let them inside her walls. To have the relationship you come home to after a long day. A home composed of two bodies. But it’s easier, safer, to keep things strictly one-night-only, avoid the possibility of anything serious, even if it aches to delete the messages they sent, delete the memories. No hard feelings when she literally ghosts someone._

_But Brooke is--she’s different._

_With her, sometimes Vanessa forgets the ticking clock over her head, like time stops completely. They go to museums where Vanessa blabbers about history and though Brooke is quiet, one look at her focused eyes tells Vanessa she’s listening intently, tucking the information away. She doesn’t even mind when Brooke drags her to a bookstore at 9am, because_ ‘the next book in the series comes out today, Ness!’ _She cooks dinner for Brooke in her apartment and lays with her head in Brooke’s lap while her soft voice reads Jane Austen, and she sleeps with Brooke that night and wakes up beside her in the morning, and Vanessa wonders if this is it._

_If she’s cured._

_She hasn’t drifted in four months, the longest time since she started drifting as a teenager (Because periods and pimples and puberty weren’t bad enough without accidental time-travel). And even though she’s never let herself have a relationship, never let herself truly love anyone, she can’t help but wonder if it’s a sign. If the universe is on her side for once, aligning their bodies like constellations, giving her time with Brooke because she’s the one Vanessa is meant to be with._

_Until she’s in her office at school, counting the hours until dinner with Brooke, and her pen slips through her fingers._

_Fingers that are no longer there._

_The universe takes her away, and she knows it was too good to be true._

\---

The prickling starts in Vanessa’s fingers. It flickers in and out, sharp with pins-and-needles pain like her limbs were asleep. Red nail polish appears and she knows the universe has surrendered its grip, has given her body back, and she’s going home. Her solid-again heart races at the thought of whether that home will still be there, if she can still call it hers. 

Everything slows, and suddenly carpet chafes against her skin and familiar cream walls with overstuffed bookshelves surround her and she groans. 

“V-Vanessa?” Brooke’s voice cracks, and it shatters Vanessa’s heart with it. 

Vanessa wants to reach out for Brooke but her hands feel too far away, disconnected from the rest of her. Even after she’s back, it takes a while to fully come back to herself, to feel like she’s in her body. She screws her eyes shut and tries to rein in her breathing, each bit of air burning her chest. 

“Breathe in for four seconds.” Vanessa can’t see Brooke, but her soothing voice makes it through the haze that Vanessa should be used to by now, but isn’t. 

“Hold it for seven.” 

“Breathe out for eight.”

Vanessa’s lungs finally accept the air. She opens her eyes and knows she’s home when she sees Brooke. She’s still in her pajamas from last night--the donut ones Vanessa gave her for Christmas--and her heart swells with hope. Maybe she wasn’t gone long. She sits up, smiling as the rug tickles her palms. 

“Do you want to do your grounding exercises?” Brooke had researched those after Vanessa admitted that she sometimes didn’t feel real after drifting. Since then, Brooke has her list things she sees, or feels, or hears, until she feels better. 

Vanessa’s okay, so she shakes her head. “When?” she croaks. It’s all she has strength for, but Brooke understands. 

“September 13th, 2020. Sunday. 9:16 am. It’s been 12 hours.”

Vanessa nods sluggishly. It feels like both minutes and years since last night. Time doesn’t flow normally when she drifts. She has no way to know how long she’s been gone until she crashes back down and has to hunt down a newspaper or phone or--

Or Brooke.

Because she’s still here. Vanessa was only gone 12 hours. Brooke is still here. 

_(But one day, one day, she might not be)._

Vanessa silences the thought. Brooke is here, and Vanessa stands on shaky legs and stumbles into her arms. 

“You didn’t sleep.” Vanessa doesn’t even need to say it, now that she’s gotten a good look at Brooke. Brooke is usually grumpy in the morning, shuffling around and grumbling until she eats breakfast, but today, she just looks exhausted. Her eyes are red and puffy from crying, rimmed with gray circles. 

“I couldn’t.” Brooke’s voice is apologetic. She never blames Vanessa, never makes her feel bad for leaving, but Vanessa does anyway. It breaks her heart each time, guilt creeping into her bones over leaving Brooke. The thought of one dish at their kitchen table while Brooke picked at her food, of Vanessa’s side of the bed smooth and undisturbed while Brooke tossed and turned on her side. 

“Can we take a nap?” Her now-solid body is made of lead after the weightless drifting, and bed is calling.

“Of course. Is it okay if I carry you?”

Vanessa nods, and then she’s melting into Brooke’s arms. 

“I feel like a princess,” she giggles.

Brooke snorts. “Guess I’m Prince Charming then.” 

“You’re much prettier,” Vanessa says as Brooke gently pushes her limbs through pajamas--soft, worn-in flannel, another sensation to ground her--then lays her in bed, tucking her beneath the blankets. 

It’s a routine that makes Vanessa as warm as the blankets, even if she hadn’t wanted to let Brooke in at first. She’d usually collapse in bed alone until exhaustion overcame her panic and fear after drifting. But Brooke wanted to take care of her, has been for over a year now, and Vanessa doesn't resist. Sometimes it’s nice to be cared for.

Vanessa sighs with pleasure when Brooke heaps a weighted blanket over her, then joins her beneath it. 

“Your feet are freezing!” Vanessa complains. 

“Well, you’re on my hair!” Brooke whines. They both laugh, and Vanessa feels better.

Vanessa curls into Brooke’s side. She can always feel Brooke, and Brooke is real for sure. Vanessa’s eyes trace over features she knows as well as her own, features that are as much her home as the apartment. There’s the adorable little unevenness in her front teeth. Bright green eyes losing their exhaustion and worry, brightening with relief and joy. Long arms she’s memorized every line and freckle and beauty mark on. 

“It’s good to have you back,” Brooke says softly, squeezing her like her arms alone can protect Vanessa from the universe.

“It’s good to be with you.” Vanessa breathes in Brooke’s lavender body wash, breathes in her safety and warmth. She drifts off within minutes, but this time, she knows exactly where she is.

—-

_God, Vanessa hates this part. Hates opening her eyes and trying to figure out where she is when her brain is lagging. It reminds her of when she was seven and got the flu so bad she had to go to the hospital, how she woke up and couldn’t figure out where she was at first because she was so sleepy and everything was so fuzzy._

_Now, all she can do is breathe until the walls stop spinning and she can think properly. She’s in her office, her home away from home, in the spinny chair that makes her feel like the captain of a spaceship. There’s her bookcase crammed with history texts, her history memes and activist posters on the walls, the candy bars for students having a rough day, the R2-D2 mug she uses for tea._

_Everything is covered in dust._

_Not good. Definitely not good._

_Her computer is black and silent, turned off for who knows how long. Her calendar displays April 2019, the square for her date with Brooke still bearing Brooke’s name and the little hearts Vanessa had drawn around it. Vanessa’s heart clenches tighter._

_Is Brooke still here?_

_Vanessa wobbles across the hall. Above posters advertising the college literary journal, Brooke’s name greets her on the door’s plaque. Vanessa throws the door open, heart pounding._

_Brooke’s at her desk reading papers, her mouth dropping open when she sees her visitor._

_“Va--Vanessa?” Brooke’s face is paler than Vanessa thought possible, like a ghost. Or maybe because she thinks she’s seeing a ghost. “What--you’ve been gone--” She shakes her head frantically in shock._

_“What’s the date?” Vanessa rasps._

_“Vanessa, are you okay? Maybe you should sit--”_

_“The date!”_

_Brooke must sense her desperation, because she stops fussing. “May 3rd. 2019,” she adds in confusion._

_A month. Vanessa’s been gone an entire month._

_Her knees give on her, but Brooke darts in before she hits the ground. Brooke helps her into the armchair by her desk, and Vanessa runs her hand over the worn velvet and wonders how many students have sat here, asking Brooke questions. She clings to the thought as her fingers cling to the fabric, as her eyes cling to Brooke, bringing her back to the world._

_“Vanessa, it’s okay. Whatever happened, it’s okay.” Brooke’s voice is slow and steady, warding off the sharp edge of worry trying to break through._

_Vanessa thinks she nods; she doesn’t quite feel her head move. Something warm settles around her shoulders, its vanilla scent slowing her heart, calming her shaking. Brooke’s coat._

_“I got worried after you missed our date,” Brooke says quietly. “Then the school said your mom called and said you were really sick. I wanted to visit you, but I didn’t know where you were.” Vanessa can usually read Brooke well, but now her face is hesitant, guarded, hiding her real thoughts. Brooke’s too smart, too close to her, to believe the lie blindly._

_Vanessa barely feels the ache in her chest over making Brooke worry all month, or the relief of knowing her mom covered for her. Everything still seems hollow. Empty._

_Vanessa’s eyes drift across the office. She loves Brooke’s office because it’s just like her: to a quick eye, it’s polished and perfect, but if you peek a little closer, at the tea-stained mug she hasn’t washed yet or the old hoodie thrown in the corner, it’s messy and warm._

_Her gaze settles on a book on Brooke’s desk. The office is packed with books, but this one sticks out to her. Because it’s not about literary criticism, or novel structure._

_It’s about the Renaissance._

_Tears well in Vanessa’s eyes, and they trail down her cheeks at what’s beside the book: a worn napkin from the campus coffee shop bearing Vanessa's handwriting._

_Brooke hands her a tissue. Vanessa can see her buzzing to do more, but holding back in case it’s too much, and her body rushes with warmth and affection for Brooke._

_Vanessa thinks of that napkin Brooke’s had for months, how she had hung on to Vanessa all this time. Even when she wasn’t here, Brooke didn’t forget her. She deserves the truth, even if she won’t believe it, even if it ruins things between them._

_“I need to tell you something.” Vanessa finds her voice and wipes her tears._

_“You can tell me anything,” Brooke promises._

_God, Vanessa hopes those words are true._

_She opens her mouth and lets it tumble out. How the women in her family drift through time. Only--here’s where Vanessa thinks of it as a curse more than a gift--the drifting couldn’t be controlled. She, like her mom and the others, would vanish from the earth, floating through time until returning, always after they had left, never before. Sometimes it happens every few days, sometimes she’s gone months without doing it. Vanessa had an aunt that made it a year without drifting, even said she could control it. But there’s no escaping it._

_Brooke stays silent as Vanessa talks, eyebrows furrowed. Vanessa thinks she’s taking it well, though she doesn’t have anything to compare it to. She’s never let anyone close enough to find out. Vanessa had more friends than she could count when she was a kid, but when she started drifting, she drifted from them too._

_Brooke keeps opening and closing her mouth, and Vanessa sees the wheels turning in her mind._

_“I know it sounds crazy,” Vanessa says before she can speak, “but it’s true. I swear.”_

_“I know you’re telling the truth. You always touch your ear when you lie,” Brooke says finally, and the simple proof of how well she knows Vanessa lightens her heart, makes her think things will be okay. “But I just--you time-travel?” Brooke asks incredulously._

_“It’s not like that,” Vanessa says. “I don’t leave and decide to pop over to Rome and party with Caesar. I don’t_ go _anywhere. I just … drift.” She shrugs helplessly. Maybe she should’ve practiced this, because she barely understands and she’s the one that_ does _the drifting._

_“I--I think I get it,” Brooke manages. “As much as I can, anyway. It’s just … a lot.”_

_“Yeah.” Brooke’s lost in thought, and Vanessa can’t tell what she’s thinking. “Look, I--I get it if you wanna break up.”_

_Brooke’s head snaps up. “Why would I want to break up?”_

_“You know …” Vanessa gestures into thin air, lets out a_ poof. _“Because of the vanishing.”_

_“But I love you,” Brooke says simply, and those words wash over Vanessa, soothe the knot in her stomach. “No one’s perfect,” Brooke adds, “and I know I can be really fussy sometimes, and I take forever to pick a movie and have horrible taste in potato chips—“_

_“Salt and vinegar is the devil’s chip,” Vanessa interrupts, and it cuts the tension, brings a smile to her face._

_Brooke grins. “Yeah. And you put up with that because you love me. I know this won’t be easy, but I can handle it. Because I love you.”_

_Brooke opens her arms, and Vanessa throws herself into them. Brooke kisses the top of her head and Vanessa melts, all her fears gone. They sink into Brooke’s chair, a mess of arms and tears and hesitant laughs, two oceans colliding, and even though Vanessa knows it will be hard, she also knows Brooke won’t ever leave._

\---

Soft whimpers wake Vanessa. 

She blinks awake, turning to Brooke as the whimpers grow louder, and her heart aches at the sight. 

Brooke is trembling, body curled up and clenched like a fist, face twisted in fear, and though Vanessa can’t make out what she’s mumbling, her distress fills the room. 

“Shhh,” Vanessa whispers, laying a cautious hand on Brooke’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Brooke. I’m here, you’re okay.” 

“Don’t go, Ness,” Brooke whimpers, and it hits Vanessa like a slap in the face. It’s _her_ fault Brooke is having this nightmare, and how many times has she had it with no one to soothe it away?

She repeats the comforts until Brooke stops shaking, her face smoothing out and becoming peaceful. An angel beneath the blankets, and Vanessa watches her breathe until her own breaths even out. 

Vanessa sighs, the guilt in her chest heavier than ever. As much as it hurts her to leave Brooke behind, it hurts even worse to _be_ left behind. 

She’s been on Brooke’s side of things. She spent hours playing with her Barbies and struggling through math homework at the kitchen table, poking her head up every few seconds in case her mom appeared. She knows quiet dinners and quieter nights where she and her dad pretended it wasn’t weird to be a duo instead of a trio. She knows about counting days even though you don’t want to, running at every floor creak, wondering if the emptiness in your chest would consume you. 

Even the nightmares are an old routine for Vanessa. As a kid, she’d be torn from her sleep, crying because her mom was gone forever. And when her mom didn’t come in to soothe her, it felt like the nightmare was real. Now, her nightmares prey on the fears she has every time she drifts. 

Fears that she’ll come back and the romance novels on her nightstand and her floral towels in the bathroom and her vanilla candles will be gone, because Brooke gave up on her. That so much time will have passed that Brooke won’t remember Vanessa, that their life will have slipped through her mind, like Vanessa slipped through her hands. Or the worst, of course, that she’ll return and find no Brooke at all, just her name on a cold headstone. 

She’s dealt with them for years, but Brooke shouldn’t have to. She shouldn’t have to live with the threat of losing Vanessa hanging over her. Brooke deserves a normal relationship where her girlfriend doesn’t vanish. 

The only way to give her that, Vanessa knows, is to leave. 

Vanessa’s heart clenches, eyes damp. Can she leave Brooke to give her a normal, happy life?

Brooke snuggles closer in her sleep, and God, Vanessa loves her so much. Sweet Brooke, who spent hours picking out her cats at the shelter because she wanted to take them all. Who learned how to make chicken soup when Vanessa got a cold. Who buys Vanessa flowers just because. Someone who loves her, is there for her, in a way Vanessa never let anyone be. 

When Vanessa was little, she wondered if she did something to make her mom leave. Wondered if her mom would still be there if she’d done something differently—written her name neater in kindergarten or put her toys away without being asked. Wondered if her mom would be gone forever, wondered if she’d come back faster if Vanessa was really, really good. Her dad said it wasn’t her fault, that her mom had to travel for work and would be back soon. And five-year-old Vanessa who’d never seen anything more complex than _Sesame Street_ believed him, sure. But then she got older and learned the truth.

Brooke is much too old to be placated with those lies, and much too kind to live with that fear and stress.

She thinks of Brooke not sleeping when she’s alone, running around the apartment after work, looking for Vanessa, counting hours and seconds and minutes until Vanessa returns. Brooke doesn’t deserve that. She’s an excellent professor, so popular her classes are wait-listed every semester. She has friends and hikes and dances for fun. An entire life she can live without Vanessa.

She doesn’t want Brooke wasting her life waiting for Vanessa to come back. The way Vanessa’s dad did for her mom. 

Tomorrow, she’ll do what she needs.

\---

Brooke is flipping pancakes the next morning, and the smell of blueberries--Vanessa's favorite--only makes things harder. She smiles weakly as they eat, brushing everything off as exhaustion. Brooke is so happy Vanessa’s back that she goes with it, but Vanessa doesn’t miss her biting her lip in thought. 

“Want me to stay home with you?” Brooke asks. 

Vanessa almost says yes. She’d love a day on the couch with Brooke, her feet in Brooke’s lap while they grade papers, a movie they’ve seen a hundred times playing in the background. But it’s important that Brooke goes. Then Vanessa can leave without Brooke to make her stay. 

“No, I’m fine. I got stuff to do for my online classes.” 

Her voice shakes even though she doesn't want it to, and Brooke’s eyes widen in concern. “Vanessa, what’s wrong?”

Vanessa shakes her head, turning from Brooke’s gaze. She’s not crying, she’s not. 

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Brooke says softly, wiping the tear Vanessa couldn’t hold back. 

Vanessa sighs, a shiver hitting her when she steps back from Brooke’s touch. “It’s just … I hate how upset you get when I drift. You worry, and you miss work—I don’t want you to waste your life waiting for me.”

“I’m not wasting anything. You’re _part_ of my life,” Brooke says firmly. 

“But…” Vanessa bites her lip against another wave of tears. “I’m not the only part. You have work, you have friends. You deserve a normal life.” Tears flood her cheeks, so thick she doesn’t bother wiping them. “You should be with someone who doesn’t disappear.”

Brooke’s face falls, like the very thing tying her to earth has been severed. “Do … do you not want to be with me anymore?” Her voice is just a whisper, hoarse with pain and quivering with tears.

“Of course I want to be with you!” Vanessa cries. She’s never wanted to be with anyone else, and even as she’s telling Brooke to move on, not waste her life, she can’t imagine Brooke spending that life with anyone but her. She wishes she could stop this fight right now, but Brooke is looking at her in fear, doubting her love, and she has to speak. 

“I love you, Brooke. I just—“

“Just what?” 

Why isn’t Brooke _angry_ already? Why is she shaking with sadness instead of rage, why is her voice quiet and broken instead of loud and sharp? Vanessa could deal with anger, would _prefer_ anger. She wishes Brooke would scream and storm out of here, start a new life. But this is the Brooke Vanessa loves, the Brooke patient enough to take her ice skating. The Brooke that promised to always wait for her. 

“I don’t want you to keep hurting because of me!” Vanessa sinks to the kitchen floor, the fight leaving her like air from a balloon. Stupid, this whole thing. Trying to push away the only person she ever let in. 

Vanessa doesn’t know what brought them together, put Brooke in the path of her arm that day. Fate, destiny--it doesn’t matter. She’s been their prisoner for too long. 

Screw fate. She loves Brooke because she _wants_ to.

She’s choosing, and she chooses Brooke. In spite of fate, in spite of her drifting, she chooses Brooke.

“I’m sorry,” Vanessa sniffles. “I’m sorry.”

“Shhh, baby.” Brooke slides beside her, pulling her close. She strokes Vanessa’s hair and whispers words Vanessa can’t hear but is comforted by all the same. She keeps doing it until her breathing has calmed down, until the sobbing hiccups have eased.

Brooke turns to Vanessa, gently tipping her head up to lock eyes. God, those eyes. No matter how much she drifts, Vanessa will never forget those eyes. 

“I don’t want a different life,” Brooke says, soft yet firm. “I don’t want to be with anyone else. I love you, Vanessa. You’re the best part of my life.” 

Vanessa squeezes her eyes shut and breathes Brooke in. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. 

“I promise to do better when you’re gone--I’ll go to work and get out and live. It’s not fair to you otherwise. I want to work with you to make things the best they can be,” Brooke continues. “And if you want to take a break, or you want time, that’s fine too. I love you and want you to be happy, no matter what.”

“I love you too,” Vanessa says, the last of her tears gone. “I don’t want to break up. I _never_ wanted to break up. I just wanted to protect you. But I love you, Brooke Lynn Hytes. I love you so freaking much.”

Vanessa doesn’t know how long they stay curled up on the floor, and she doesn’t care. She just stays nestled in Brooke’s arms, fighting all of time itself, until those arms aren’t holding her anymore. 

Except it’s not Brooke’s arms that aren’t there. 

It’s her.

Her heartbeat explodes in her chest. “No!” She screams into the air, into the whole fucking universe, like anyone will listen. “No, no, please!”

“It’s okay.” Brooke puts on her brave voice even as her hug passes through Vanessa. “It’s okay. I love you.”

Vanessa shakes her head. She twists her vanishing limbs around, willing them to become solid again, willing herself to stay. If the universe is taking her, it’s going to work for it. 

“Brooke, I don’t wanna go.” 

“Ness, it’s okay.” Brooke’s hands rest on her cheeks, and they both pretend they can feel it. Brooke’s eyes are teary, but also fiercer, stronger, than Vanessa’s ever seen. “Just come back to me, okay?”

Vanessa doesn’t want to come back because she doesn’t want to _leave_ in the first place. But she’s losing the fight. The outline of her transparent body is fainter, blurrier. Her mind is slowing, thoughts fading. The gray cloud of the universe is closer, ready to devour her. 

“I promise,” Vanessa says with a voice that’s already fading. 

And then she’s gone. 

\---

Brooke’s never asked Vanessa what it’s like to drift. 

She knows it’s hard for Vanessa to put into words, and she knows how much Vanessa hates it--hates not having control over herself, being helpless to the universe. Brooke won’t steal her smile by making her relive that fear. 

But even without asking, sometimes Brooke thinks she knows what it’s like. Because whenever Vanessa drifts, Brooke does too. 

She’s untethered, a sailor with no course. No Vanessa in the passenger seat dancing to her ‘favorite song’ that happened to be every song. No Vanessa in her home office, Thackery in her lap, doing lessons for her online classes. No Vanessa in bed when Brooke rolls over, hair tickling her nose. 

Brooke’s a whole person on her own, with her own life, and she obviously doesn’t need Vanessa to live. But it’s hard not to feel like something’s missing, and the world is a little colder, darker, without Vanessa. 

But she has a promise to keep, and she works and eats and sleeps. She loads the dishwasher the _correct_ way, no Vanessa insisting her way is better, and crunches on chips to fill the silence. She even lets her friends drag her to trivia night at a sticky bar. But then night falls, and dread crushes her heart. The nights are the worst, longer and lonelier and sadder without the light of day, and sleep doesn’t come easy. The cats don’t quite fill Vanessa’s space, but Brooke tries. 

Thackery is whimpering tonight, and Brooke pets him.

“I know,” she says softly. “I miss her too.”

Vanessa told her that when her mom was drifting, she would think of happy memories to pass the time, take her mind off the ache from missing her. 

Brooke pulls Thackery into her lap, grunting under his weight. He’s gotten so big, and she remembers when he was just a kitten.

_Barks and meows and howls soar through the shelter, and Brooke smiles as Vanessa tries to figure out why they’re here on their anniversary._

_Finally, Vanessa can’t hold back. “I love puppies and kitties, Brooke, but are we here for something?”_

_“I thought maybe you’d want to pick a cat?” Brooke asks. “Since we moved in together and it’s our anniversary.” Moving in was a weekend of lugging bags and boxes and rearranging the whole apartment, and Brooke loves living with Vanessa already._

_Vanessa wanted a cat for years but couldn’t have one, because with the drifting, she might not always be there to feed it. But they live together now, and Brooke will always be there._

_“Brooke,” Vanessa breathes, blinking back tears and grinning. “I’d love one! And you’ll look after--”_

_“I’ll look after it if you’re not there,” Brooke says, but she’s really telling Vanessa that she’ll always look after her too, take care of her after drifting. That she doesn’t have to do it alone anymore._

_Vanessa squeezes her hand, and though she can’t speak, Brooke understands._

_Then they’re on the floor, kittens running all over them, and Vanessa’s smile is the most adorable thing Brooke’s ever seen._

_“Can we take ‘em all, Brooke?” Vanessa asks._

_“I don’t think we have room.”_

_“How can you say no to this face?” Vanessa lifts a cat in front of her own face, waving its little paw. “Brooke, I wuv you,” Vanessa says in a high-pitched kitten squeak. “I wanna go home with you.”_

_“Well, I want to never hear that voice again,” Brooke teases, and Vanessa laughs._

_A fluffy white kitten with gray streaks butts its head into her leg, and Vanessa scoops it up. “I like this one. He’s a feisty little thing.”_

_The cat purrs as Vanessa pets him, and they both melt._

Brooke pets Thackery until she falls into an easy sleep. 

\---

Vanessa’s been gone a month, and Brooke’s trying not to worry, but it’s the longest Vanessa’s been gone since Brooke has known her. She had stupidly hoped Vanessa would be back by her birthday, even though Vanessa has no sense of time or control when she drifts. Still, Brooke made chocolate cupcakes and blew out the candle anyway. 

Happy memories, she reminds herself—the huge snowstorm in February, snow melting in Vanessa’s hair as they threw snowballs. Stuffing the cats into sweaters, dodging paws and laughing. The picnic in the park, curled up on a blanket watching clouds together. But it's hard to think of those memories without thinking of ones they haven't made yet, ones time is stealing from them. 

She starts seeing hope where there is none—book pages rippling, towels tipping over, Vanessa’s Pikachu bobblehead falling, everything explained away by wind or misbehaving cats.

She even foolishly tries to reach Vanessa, little things to get her attention. Making a show of loading the dishwasher, flaunting each cup. Crunching over every leaf because Vanessa loves the sound so much. Leaving the kitchen light on overnight, in case it helps Vanessa find her way home. 

She knows it’s stupid, that Vanessa won’t see. But she hopes somewhere, somehow, that Vanessa knows. Knows Brooke is waiting, even as she wonders if Vanessa is gone forever. 

How long should Brooke wait? It’s been a month; should two be the cutoff? Weeks fly by, and though Brooke doesn’t want to move on, doesn’t want to be with anyone else, she’s really starting to worry. 

What if Vanessa never comes back?

Brooke can’t let herself consider it. Vanessa always comes back.

_(But one time, one time, she might not)._

Brooke hasn’t prayed in a while. She doubts she even has the right to anymore. But that night, she offers up a prayer to anyone that will listen.

_Please let Vanessa come home._

\---

Brooke is in the bookstore, because books are the closest she can get to normal. She browses books on time travel and astral projection, wondering if she’ll find a cure for Vanessa somewhere. 

It’s been two months. 

Two months of eating and sleeping alone, two months without Vanessa’s laugh, two months without them both shouting out _Jeopardy!_ answers, two months without hearing or saying _I love you_. Even loading the dishwasher her way has lost its joy, and she wishes Vanessa was here to rearrange everything. 

Vanessa wouldn’t give up on her if things were reversed. And Vanessa has to come back at some point--she’s too stubborn not to. So stubborn she jumps for stuff on high grocery store shelves just to get it herself. Brooke can be just as stubborn, and she won’t give up on the person she loves. 

Brooke is leaving when she sees it. A book on the floor, probably left behind by some kid. But then she sees the cover. 

_Goodnight Moon._

“I’m listening, Ness,” Brooke whispers, tears in her eyes. “I’m listening.”

\---

Vanessa drifts. 

She’s never drifted like this. Everything is black and hazy, her thoughts slow and sticky, like they’re traveling through mud. Her mind is peaceful and blank, then snaps awake, struggling to remember anything from before. One of her relatives drifted so long that she came back and couldn’t remember anything, not even her own name. What if that happens to her? What _is_ her name? 

Vanessa. 

She’s Vanessa. 

She hears echoes of that name, like someone is thinking of her, sending it into the void. 

There is someone, isn’t there? Someone with blonde hair, and blue--no, green--eyes. Someone who holds her. 

Brooke. 

How could she forget the one person she swore she’d always remember? What if this goes on for so long Brooke is ripped from her mind entirely?

But they won’t rip Brooke from her heart, and Vanessa has a plan. 

She reaches in her memories and finds the face she wants. An adorable smile and rosy cheeks and hopeful eyes. Someone to fight for. Someone to go home to. 

She’s never tried sending signs or controlling anything when she drifts. Her aunt said she could send signs through, but Vanessa’s not sure if it’s true, or just something her aunt claimed after too much wine. 

But Vanessa can try. 

She reaches for the thread tying Brooke to the universe, trying to knot her thread with the images in her head, images of anything in the house that’s hers--books, pillows, towels--and tries to move them, hoping Brooke notices. She thinks of a book with a familiar green-and-orange cover, sends it into Brooke’s thread and prays it works. 

If this is working, and her objects reach Brooke, maybe she can send herself back by the same logic. Think of Brooke, of the thread tying her to Vanessa, and send herself through it. 

You can’t rewrite history. That’s the first rule for historians and time-travelers. 

But maybe she can rewrite her future. 

Maybe she can go home. 

\---

The world is spinning. 

Vanessa doesn’t want to open her eyes. She doesn’t want to see if it worked, doesn’t want to know if the home she tried to land in isn’t hers anymore--no cats pattering across the floor, no cookies in the cupboard, no shoes heaped by the door. 

No Brooke. 

She really doesn’t want to know if there’s no Brooke. 

She keeps her eyes screwed shut and does her breathing, knowing she can’t stay like this forever. She’s getting ready to look when there’s a gasp.

“Vanessa!”

Her eyes fly open, and she lets out her own gasp.

Brooke is here. 

Brooke is here, and Vanessa extends her hands as Brooke sits down with her and hugs her, rubbing her back and burying her face in her hair, like she can’t believe Vanessa is really here. For Brooke to be this shocked, Vanessa doesn’t want to know how long she’s been gone. 

“You’re back,” Brooke breathes incredulously, holding her tight. 

“I’m back.” Vanessa takes a breath, steels herself. “How long?”

Brooke pulls away and bites her lip. “Two months, one week, two days.”

Vanessa’s heart stops, tears welling in her eyes. _Two months_. She left Brooke alone for _two whole months_ , and the ache in her chest is the worst it’s ever been. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.” The words aren’t enough to make up for two months of being alone, but she hopes Brooke knows all the same, knows she never wanted to leave her.

Brooke shakes her head. “You’re here now, Ness. That’s all that matters. It’s not your fault, you couldn’t control it.”

The words spark something in Vanessa’s fuzzy mind, and she remembers. “I--I think I can now.”

“What?”

“I think I controlled it. I think I sent myself back.”

Brooke’s eyebrows wrinkle. “But how--”

“I thought of you,” Vanessa says simply. “Things felt so long, and I started to forget. But I didn’t forget you, Brooke.” She wipes her tears. “I could never forget you. I just thought of you, of us, and I sent myself back. I don’t know the science of it or anything, but screw that. I’m back, and I love you.”

“I love you too.”

She kisses Brooke then, a kiss with all the love she couldn’t give her the past two months, one stronger and fiercer than any force in the universe. 

They kiss until they’re forced to break apart for air, and Brooke has a question in her eyes. 

“What?” Vanessa asks. 

“How … how does it feel when you drift?” Brooke asks, face reddening. “I’m sorry, I know you don’t like to talk--”

“Shhh.” Vanessa takes a breath. “You really wanna know?”

Brooke nods. 

Vanessa leans back in for another kiss, and when Brooke gasps and leans into her, she knows Brooke understands.


End file.
